


The Pessimist

by notmyyacht



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Gen, Metaphors, Mind Palace, Relationship Study, Symbolism, chillywilly subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: Will had more regrets than he cared to admit out loud. At least he could try to tie up one loose end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Hannibal Reverse Bang Challenge! Accompanying piece was done by ateranimus22 on tumblr http://ateranimus22.tumblr.com/post/152173817636/entry-for-nbchannibalbigbangs-revese-bang-event
> 
> I'm really happy with how this fic turned out! Hope you enjoy it!! :D

Patience, that’s the key.

Ankle-deep in the water, Will relaxed. In his mind, it was autumn. Autumn was always Will’s favorite season. The cool, crisp air, the colored leaves, how nature seemed to be at peace. Nature was dying, as it did every year. Still, it was a peaceful death. All of nature seemed to move at once. The leaves were dying, the trees, temperatures dropped; animals prepared to either run from it or sleep through it. The beautiful, peaceful annual death of nature.

He cast this fly and waited.

He hadn’t gone fishing like this in a long time. Not here, in the quiet of his mind. He hadn’t felt the desire to, not when he had Molly and Walter to fill his life and his thoughts. They had become the ones he would find peace with. Warmth, love.

_“This is your best possible world, Will.”_

Will had thought about that a lot during his time of warmth, and during it he would think, _Yes, it is_. Like a break in a calm river, Jack Crawford stepped back into his life. The warm, loving moment of his life was over. The blood and fear was back. Hannibal was back. Once again, Will returned to that river to fish.

“Do you believe this is no longer your best world, Will?”

Will didn’t turn to his company. He didn’t reply.

“You survived Hannibal Lecter, he was caught, and yet after all this time, he still has gotten to you. Do you truly believe you will ever be free of him?”

Will tried not to listen.

“I used to think I could. I knew I had won.”

“But he still got to you,” said Will, finally turning to the person beside him in the river.

Chilton frowned up at him. He straightened his posture and idly ran a finger over the wheel of his chair.

“This is not _my_ best possible world,” said Chilton, a sway of disappointment in his tone.

Will eyed Chilton for a moment. The wheelchair was not deep in the river; the water only soaked through Chilton’s expensive, tailored pants halfway up his calves. Chilton looked out across the river to where Will had cast. His skin was clean and his cheeks were covered in stubble. It reminded Will of the beard Chilton wore when they had met. Chilton’s stubble was now speckled with gray and there was a spot just above the facial hair.

The spot was easy to miss at first glance. Will inferred that without the makeup, it looked quite ugly. He never got to see it, not like how it was. He only saw it when it matched the rest of Chilton’s body.

Here, Chilton looked as he had before he felt dragon’s fire. Time and time again, Will had dreamt that he was the one who set Chilton aflame.

_“I wonder…”_

“Did you mean it?” asked Chilton.

Will paused, waiting for the rest, his breath held.

“Did you mean it when you said you were sorry for what happened to me?” Chilton finished.

Will still said nothing.

“Are you sorry for calling Jack Crawford? That was your fault too. I never blamed you for it, but it _was_ your fault. I would not have been shot in the face if Jack hadn’t caught me. I would not have been caught if you hadn’t called him.”

“You would have been caught or killed anyway.”

“Would I?”

“Yes.”

Chilton didn’t argue.

“You hate me now?” said Will, adjusting his grip on the rod.

“Why not? You have always hated me. It took two near-death experiences, but I figured it out.”

“About time.”

Chilton snorted at that.

Will’s favorite time to fish was always in autumn. He liked the cool breeze, without the bite of winter, the changing colors of nature, the peace and the quiet. Here, he liked the solitude.

He glanced at Chilton again, who had his eyebrows drawn together and the corners of his mouth drooped.

“You look worried.”

“I’m thinking,” Chilton replied.

“Thinking here in _my_ mind?” Will smiled, slowly turning the handle on the reel.

“Do you think in any of those other worlds you and I could have been friends?” Chilton’s voice didn’t tremble or stutter. The words flowed from his mouth so smoothly and casually, Will almost dropped his fishing rod.

The smile vanished from Will’s face.

 

Will never particularly liked hospitals. This dislike increased over the course of several years where he was constantly in them, whether for visiting or because he was a patient there. Now it was less of a dislike and more of an intense need to stay away from them.

But he had to see him.

Everything seemed to be heading full-force into some climactic event. It only seemed right to tie up this loose end.

Will stepped into the intensive care unit. He hadn’t spoken to Chilton in a week. Not since the night he was brought in, severely burned and righteously angry. Will wouldn’t be surprised if he was told to leave as soon as Chilton laid eyes on him.

The door was open.

Chilton had gotten a room all to himself. Of course he did.

Will saw the chamber. Georgia Madchen flickered across his memory, also in an oxygen chamber. The memory was fresh for a moment, as if it had happened only moments ago instead of years; the way she delicately tucked a lock of hair behind her ear was an image burned into Will’s memory.

Chilton had no hair. Not anymore. That’s what Will thought first. Chilton used to have a good head of thick, brown hair. Likely groomed to perfection every morning. Only once did Will ever see him touch it; it was just an idle run of his fingers through it during one of their therapy sessions. No more.

Chilton permanently grinned at him as he approached, though his eyes were closed. His chest steadily rose and fell.

“Frederick?” Will said softly.

Chilton’s eyes flew open and immediately focused on him. His body tensed for a moment and he turned his head slightly so his good eye could see Will better.

_“It took two near-death experiences, but I figured it out.”_

“Will Graham, come to see your work.”

Will’s stomach churned.

“I’ve come to see how you’re doing,” he said.

“How I’m doing.” Chilton sneered, though he spoke softly, careful to choose his words and annunciate as well as a man without lips could. “I was doing fine until you graced me with your presence.”

“I see you’re getting skin grafts,” Will steered. Chilton huffed.

“Yes. Care to be a donor, Will?”

“Frederick, I’m here to apologize.”

“To make yourself feel better?”

Eyes are too telling, too distracting, but Will found himself drawn to Chilton’s good eye. The only part of him that hadn’t been touched by the perils he’d been through. The longer Will stared into the green of the iris, the more he realized that it _had_ been touched.

Everything Chilton had seen touched his one working eye. He saw Gideon remove his organs, he saw the bullet that came for his other eye, he saw the words the Dragon made him read aloud, he saw the match that destroyed his body… Every single spot on Chilton’s body had been scarred in some way or another.

“I don’t feel better,” said Will, meaning it.

“Good.”

Will wanted to pull up a chair, force himself to sit and look at Chilton. _To see his work_.

No, that’s not why he was there.

For the briefest of moments, Will was standing in the river again. Chilton still sat beside him, still in the wheelchair, but no longer with his lips or healthy skin. Chilton looked up at him, his one good eye filled with anger and betrayal.

The same way Chilton was actually looking at him from behind the chamber glass.

Will did this.

When Chilton had come to him for help, Will didn’t hesitate to call Jack Crawford. When Alana suggested Chilton be the one to be interviewed with Will to bad-mouth the Dragon, Will didn’t hesitate to agree with her. When Chilton joined him in the picture, Will didn’t hesitate to put his hand on him.

Like a pet.

Perhaps that’s all Chilton ever was to him, to Hannibal, to Alana… an annoying pet.

Will spent a good part of his life collecting strays. When Chilton came to him and asked for use of his shower, was Will not taking in another stray? A lost creature in need of a friend, that’s what Chilton was at the time. Will didn’t let himself think too much of it then. How he took in that stray only to call the pound shortly after.

The Red Dragon killed the pets first, so of course Chilton was the one he’d take. Will didn’t hesitate to mark Chilton for what he was. It was for authenticity. That’s how he had justified it to himself. That’s what he told himself when he placed his hand on Chilton, so precisely too. It wasn’t a shoulder or an arm, it was just below the nape of his neck, a vulnerable spot, a spot that would make Winston wag his tail whenever scratched.

 _“You put your hand on me like a_ _pet.”_

He did.

“You did not bring me flowers,” Chilton commented, breaking through Will’s thoughts. “When you were hos… hosi…” Chilton’s breathing grew heavy, determined. Will let him take his time. Of course, even like this, Frederick Chilton had to use big words. “…Hospitalized, I brought you flowers.”

“You did.” Will forced a smile. “I wasn’t sure what your favorites were.”

Chilton scoffed.

Will could see it now. As it was with makeup, it was now difficult to spot on first glance -the scar on Chilton’s face. Gnarled flesh that blended in with the burnt skin. Will’s gaze flickered down Chilton’s body. His gaze lingered too long on a patch of skin and Chilton opened his mouth to cough out a brief laugh.

“It’s not visible anymore, Will. The mark Abel Gideon left on me. Burned away and covered with new flesh.”

“We don’t match anymore,” said Will. He paused, then asked, “Do you still feel empathy for me?”

“No. Only pity.”

“You pity me?”

“I pity whatever good was ever in you. I pity the loss of that. I had empathy for that man. He’s gone now.” Chilton’s voice shook slightly and his eyes welled.

Will wished he had a chair to sit in, to sit and soak in his work, to see what he had become. For a brief moment, Will wondered if his dogs were okay. Were they healthy and safe? Was only _this_ stray hurt by his actions?

“I’ve never been good and neither have you,” Will stated, his tone far more bitter than intended.

“Perhaps, but at least I shall never be a killer. At least I will never be that _ugly_.” Chilton’s gaze was challenging, begging for Will to counter. Will had nothing.

Will wanted to shrink back into his own mind, back to his river so he could fish in peace. But Chilton was there too. Will never regretted calling Jack that day, Will did not think he would regret sealing Chilton’s fate.

If there were other worlds, perhaps he had made other decisions. Perhaps in one, he did not call Jack; perhaps he took Chilton in himself. Just another stray. Perhaps in another world he and Alana kept Chilton out of their plans. What would have been Chilton’s best possible world? This could not possibly be his best world. This couldn’t be Will’s best possible world. Too much death, too much regret.

_“Do you think in any of those other worlds you and I could have been friends?”_

God, Will hoped so. He didn’t like Chilton, but perhaps in another world he was more agreeable. Perhaps in that world Will wasn’t burdened with this curse Hannibal continued to insist was a gift. Perhaps things were better in another world. They had to be.

“Frederick, I am sorry for what I did to you.” The words flowed out so easily; as soon as they had, Will felt a sense of relief. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me…”

“I don’t.”

The words hung in the air, thickening the space between them. The hospital room suddenly felt colder, unwelcoming.

Will hated hospitals. Chilton probably hated them even more.

Chilton hated Will.

Will wished he could say the feeling was mutual. Somehow, it wasn’t anymore.

 

“It’s beautiful.”

It really was, and that’s what frightened Will the most.

Will’s face rested in the crook of Hannibal’s neck, both of them bloody and in a state of dark ecstasy. This felt _good_. Maybe this was Will’s best world: a world where Will got to be good for most of his life, then was able to let himself go into Hannibal’s world. It was a world he now realized he belonged in.

In his mind, Will stood on the bank of his river. He was covered in blood instead of his fishing gear. He wasn’t a fisherman anymore, but a hunter. He could not return to this river ever again.

Chilton stood there in the middle of the river, the water up to his ankles. He had his stubble, the small mark on his cheek, his pompous three-piece suit, his perfect hair. He looked as he did the day Will put his hand on him.

“Will… come back.”

Chilton’s voice echoed in Will’s head.

Will belonged in Hannibal’s world now, a killer.

But Will never was one for being boxed into categories.

He slipped his arms around Hannibal, who welcomed it. Then there was no ground beneath their feet. The waves crashed against the rocks below and Will waited for them to take him away.


End file.
